


An Empty Promise

by Bloodlamb



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alana Bloom comphet, Alternate Universe - Vampire, F/F, F/M, Hannibal Lecter is a Monster, Hannibal Lecter is an Asshole, Margot Verger to the rescue, Minor Alana Bloom/Margot Verger, POV Alana Bloom, Will Graham to the rescue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-23 01:54:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30048132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloodlamb/pseuds/Bloodlamb
Summary: Hannibal lifts one hand to smooth stray wisps of hair from her face. His gaze is cold and calculating, and she can feel her spirit sinking beneath his eyes.“Do you think a rose can tell it has been cut?”Alana blinks rapidly, her brow furrowing at this strange and sudden question. “I...I don’t know. Do plants feel pain?”“Are they not alive?”“Well. Yes, I suppose they are, so maybe they would know. I don’t see what this has to do with-”Hannibal exhales sharply through his nostrils, signaling to Alana his irritation. She falls quiet, and only then does he smile. He is tense. “When a rose is cut for a bouquet, no amount of water can slow its fade. Yet still, it struggles to survive, as if unaware its stem is void of bush or brethren.” His fingers curl around her cheek with a gentleness that starkly contrasts the heavy pit in Alana’s stomach.“...Hannibal?”The man watches her with a gaze that is almost alien. Her skin begins to prickle with goosebumps.“Where is Margot?”
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Alana Bloom/Margot Verger
Kudos: 4
Collections: Hannibal Flashfic #009





	An Empty Promise

The chill of the nighttime breeze feels more like a kiss than a biting thing. It drifts through the open balcony doors, carrying the translucent curtains hanging over the doorway on its shoulders before cascading over silk sheets and a plush, downy comforter. Alana’s fingers smooth at the blankets in relief as she settles back into plush pillows. It had been tiring to stand for so long for the doctor’s assistant. She looked more like a midwife, with her rust blonde hair pulled into a tight bun at the base of her skull, her gray dress and cream-colored apron made her look older than her face betrayed. The midwife sets the lit candle holder on Alana’s bedside table before she speaks.

“Well, Miss Bloom, it seems like it may be best to bring the doctor to see you.” The midwife utters, her voice barely above a whisper. Alana’s eyes roll gently at the prospect, and she shakes her head as the woman begins to pack up her small tote of supplies.

“I assure you, I’m quite fine. I really don’t know why Lord Lecter is so perturbed, I’m just a bit under the weather.”

“Chronic fatigue, missed bleeding, and loss of strength and endurance?” The midwife’s green eyes settle on Alana’s ashen face. “Those are rather concerning symptoms, Miss Bloom. And my examination did not show any obvious causes.”

“I daresay seven days late isn’t much to be frightened about! I would have known by now if I had a disease of blood, wouldn’t you say?” There is a tense pause between the two women, and Alana ponders something in the quiet that stretches between them, before licking her lips. “Miss- What was your name? Pardon my forgetting, I have also been feeling ill in the mornings. Normally I have quite an appetite for my fiancé’s meals, especially breakfast! But I can’t seem to stomach the smell as of late…” Her voice trails off.

The midwife sets her tote on the foot of the bed, grasping its straps in a nearly white knuckled grip, her eyes transfixed on an empty spot in the room. “No pardon necessary, Margot Verger...And has that been happening for quite a while?” 

“Maybe. Longer than a week, but not two.”

“Have you been intimate? With your fiancé.” 

An anxious lump swells in her throat till Alana feels compelled to swallow it down. “We are to be betrothed. I don’t think it anything to frown upon.”

The midwife’s gaze seems stricken, as if a frightening creature lurked just behind Alana’s shoulder. “...No, my lady. But if that is the case, I must bring the doctor, so that he may confirm.” Alana’s eyes flutter with surprise at the possibility. She smiles to herself in disbelief. She had never imagined herself carrying someone’s child before. It always lurked on the horizon as a distant possibility, but to think, she could be pregnant! 

“Yes, of course! Go send for the doctor then. I will await your return, Miss Verger. Oh, and will you send my fiancé in? After you have spoken with him of course. He’s probably in his study, it’s down the hall, the last door on the left. Thank you, Margot…!”

Although giddy with new hope and thrill, Alana cannot help but watch Margot’s somber eyes. She looked so sad, as if watching a candle flicker out, or closing a book after a lonely ending. The midwife offers a smile that doesn’t reach her gaze, bowing her head and offering a quiet, “Yes, Miss Bloom”. The door closes with a distant click, and Alana turns her head towards the empty balcony. That girl seemed so familiar! How strange. 

Minute’s pass, and she finds herself growing restless. She knew that Hannibal had been uneasy letting Margot into the house, which struck her as strange, considering how much he enjoyed hosting parties brimming with rich strangers. Maybe he was questioning the poor woman to death? He did seem rather disgruntled with her worsening health. She tried to act unphased, hoping it would ease his worry, but he seemed only to sour the more she smiled. Soon the waiting becomes so unspeakably boring that Alana slips out of the bedcovers. Her toes the rug, before she slowly settles her feet on the floor. The floating sensation of dizziness clutches at Alana for a moment. Then it passes, and as she paces towards the balcony, she finds herself caressing her belly. 

The stone ledge of the balcony rail feels somewhat grainy beneath her fingertips. Alana’s thoughts wander as the night air playfully rakes through her curls. She wasn’t sure how Hannibal felt about children. Everything between them had happened so fast, it was hard for her to keep track of it all! Half the time her memory betrayed her. She was lucky he had such an eye for detail in life. 

Although she was simply a baronet, her father had done one or two favors for the Lecter household in his time. Some business venture she had not been privy to. Hannibal had invited both Alana and her father to attend one of his renowned parties. He said that he was stricken by a vision of beauty when he saw her. It had been a romantic whirlwind. She felt guilty that she couldn’t remember the night at all! She would joke about how he only seemed to serve strong spiced wine, and that would make everyone laugh, while Hannibal simply smiled at her. 

She could not remember her father agonizing over whether he should allow her to stay with Hannibal, either. Her fiancé insisted it had been a careful game of patience and planning to convince him. But eventually, he relented, especially after he asked for her hand. Her mind did not fail to remind her of their first dinner shared under his roof. The lights were dim, and he served a deep red wine that melted with the flavors of the food he served her. And she remembered many dinners after this. Many nights where she watched him draw, or read, or play on his harpsichord. 

She liked to watch him in these times. She liked to sneak soft kisses on his clean-shaven cheek. She liked it more when he would turn to her and seek her lips with his, his scent and cool palms on her waist a sinister promise.

It was the dreams that started ruining everything.

A slow, steady creak signals to her that the bedroom door was opened. She doesn’t hear his footsteps. Somehow, she never did, but the air shifts when his presence moves to loom behind her. “I could have sworn Miss Verger insisted to me that you rest until the doctor comes.” His accent turns his whispered statement into a near hiss. Alana chuckles softly as his cool hands clasp gently about her shoulders.

“I was getting tired of laying around waiting for you! I hope you didn’t traumatize that poor girl with too many questions she couldn’t answer.”

Hannibal inhales deeply, one hand drawing itself down between Alana’s shoulder blades. She flinches lightly and grimaces, looking over her shoulder. “Something the matter?”

“Oh, I think I got scratched up by some brambles the other day. Remember? I had been picking blackberries for you to use for dessert. It’s rather tender, but I can’t see it at all, so it’s hard to wash.”

Her fiancé considers this silently, nodding his head in quiet understanding before he settles his chin in her hair. His arms rub up and down her shoulders in a comforting way. They stand quietly like this at the balcony ledge for a long while. 

“I find it hard to believe we may be married by the time autumn is out!” Alana begins, offering a small chuckle of forced amusement. Hannibal doesn’t say anything. He was a better listener than talker, but she didn’t mind that. She had learned quickly how to fill the empty air with small chatter. “To think, just three months ago I caught your eye, laughing over a drink all tipsy and bright.”

“The flush gave you a pleasant glow, as if you had stepped out of a summer night in Venice and into my home.” This was how he described her whenever dinner guests asked how they first met. “Although one might not normally pair green with blue eyes, it suited your skin perfectly. You were like a budding rose in a room of thorns.” 

Her nose crinkles with delight as Alana’s lips spread in a bright smile. “Did I? You are poetic as always. What happens when that bud blooms? When that flower inevitably grows, it wilts.”

Hannibal seems to ponder this, squeezing her arms gently. “Every rose has its thorn.”

Her smile falters at the sentiment, and Alana’s gaze turns to the distant village that cut through the tree laden landscape. It was a six-hour trip away by carriage. “Will Miss Verger be staying in one of the guest rooms?”

“Yes, I insisted that it was far too dangerous for her at this time of night to be riding through the forest.”

Alana nods carefully, heaving a great sigh. “I didn’t tell her about the dreams. Should I have? I didn’t think it mattered. It pales in comparison to my fatigue.”

“And wouldn’t disrupted sleep be a reasonable explanation for fatigue?” 

Her eyes flutter with amusement as she scoffs. “You always have to be reasonable, don’t you?”

“If it must be a trait that plagues me, it would behoove me to use it to my advantage.” 

The young woman offers a soft hum, smiling as she leans back into Hannibal’s chest. “They’re not nightmares. Not often, anyway. Riding through golden fields, laying on a blanket in the grass beneath a billowing tree, having my hair braided with flowers. Rolling and laughing and whispering. And someone is always there with me, _Stay close, Miss Bloom! Are you hungry, Miss Bloom? Clover flowers suit you, Miss Bloom._ But I can’t see her face. I just miss her. I don’t even know who she is!” Alana curls her hands to her chest as an aching feeling overtakes her. It was bittersweet. Nostalgic, in a way. 

Hannibal says nothing, so she starts to ramble. “I wonder if the mail carrier has finally released father’s letters. I am grateful you trust me to keep the manor while you’re away on errands, but I’m getting worried about him. They won’t release any of his letters to you, all those silly excuses they give you about not being the one it’s addressed to! It will be easier when we’re Mr. and Mrs. Hannibal Lecter. “ 

“Of course, my dear.” He presses a gentle kiss to her temple. Alana lets one hand move to curl around his knuckles, her other moving to curl around her belly.

“How difficult do you think it is to find a good tutor in the village?”

“...A tutor? Does my extensive library, nor my vast travels, ensure that I am more than capable of teaching you about the wide expanses?” Alana smiles coyly as Hannibal’s tone grows suspicious. 

“Not for me, silly…” She waits, wondering if he will guess. But he remains quiet, as he always did. “She wants to fetch the doctor to confirm. On top of everything else, I remembered how I have been sick in the mornings. Morning sickness, Hannibal. Missed bleeding?” Alana offers a shaky sigh. “Should I hope it's a boy, or a girl?”

The air grows stale and cold as Hannibal remains silent. Alana’s heart flutters anxiously as he steps back, his hands slipping loosely to her waist. “...And he will have to examine you, to be sure.”

Her brow twitches, an irritated huff leaving her lips as she tries to look back at him. “Well, of course! If there’s reason to believe that I- of course he would! Is that really what you’re worried about? The midwife can do the examining if you’re that concerned for my modesty. I hardly thought you were the type, with how ravenous you are. Isn’t this what you wanted? Those _romantic dinners_ almost twice a week, I thought you’d be ecstatic that I might be with child!”

When she finally locks eyes with Hannibal, what she sees is almost frightening. He looks quite angry, his jaw clenched firmly, his nostrils flared. If he realizes that she is taken aback, he doesn’t care. Hannibal lifts one hand to smooth stray wisps of hair from her face. His gaze is cold and calculating, and she can feel her spirit sinking beneath his eyes.

“Do you think a rose can tell it has been cut?”

Alana blinks rapidly, her brow furrowing at this strange and sudden question. “I...I don’t know. Do plants feel pain?”

“Are they not alive?”

“Well. Yes, I suppose they are, so maybe they would know. I don’t see what this has to do with-”

Hannibal exhales sharply through his nostrils, signaling to Alana his irritation. She falls quiet, and only then does he smile. He is tense. “When a rose is cut for a bouquet, no amount of water can slow its fade. Yet still, it struggles to survive, as if unaware its stem is void of bush or brethren.” His fingers curl around her cheek with a gentleness that starkly contrasts the heavy pit in Alana’s stomach.

“...Hannibal?”

The man watches her with a gaze that is almost alien. Her skin begins to prickle with goosebumps.

“Where is Margot?”

Wordlessly, he sweeps one arm under hers, leading her back into the bedroom. She stumbles at his side, her chest tight from her heart suddenly racing, until she is sat on the edge of the bed. Her lips begin to tremble as Hannibal leans over her silently.

“...The doctor won’t be coming, will he? But I am sick. Aren’t I?”

There is an endless moment of silence between them before things suddenly move quickly. She falls onto her back as her hands are wrenched above her head, causing her to cry out in shock and pain from the sting in her shoulders. He has a thick cloth strip in his hands, and he is binding her wrists to the headboard with skillful knots. The confusion fades far too late, and her struggling does little when she thinks to even try to fight him. “You have a brilliant mind, Alana. A pity that your body was less resilient.” 

Her blue eyes, muddied with illness, look so brilliant in the moonlight. They glitter with tears and dismay. “You lied to me.” She whispers weakly, her expression beginning to twist from beautiful shock to hideous betrayal. “You knew! You knew I was sick, and this was all just a show...and for what? Why are you doing this? Where is Margot?” She jerks her wrists defiantly, baring her teeth at Hannibal. He watches her curiously, no longer the sweet and comforting presence she once knew.

“In the study.” Hannibal whispers, his eyes steely with cruel curiosity. “Your mind struggles to remember. Yet it knows it could not bear the truth, so it continues to hide what is plainly before you.” He utters, tilting his head as he examines the helpless woman before him. “I must tend to our guest. It would be inhospitable of me to leave her bleeding on the carpet. Then, I will answer your many, many questions.”

His fiancé has now devolved to frightened tears and infuriated sobs. “What are you?!” She exclaims, kicking out her legs as she tries to roll back and forth, struggling to no avail.

Through her tears she can see the glint of candlelight off his fangs. She gapes in horror as his maroon eyes begin to ripple with brilliant crimson flecks. 

“I am growing impatient with your sniveling, Miss Bloom.”

He leaves her like this, dumbfounded, face dripping with tears. His figure recedes into the darkness, slipping silently through the bedroom door. 

The silence that ensues is almost more frightening than what he could have done to her while he was in the room. Now she was trapped with her thoughts, and her attempts at escape. They were all one long string of failures! He had tied her wrists in such a way that she could hardly bend them. No matter how she craned her neck, she couldn’t see the knots he had tied. Her fingers pick helplessly at the knots until she grows too frantic to focus. The more she twists her wrists, the more her skin begins to burn with friction, and the more helpless she feels! She lets out an infuriated scream, jerking her arms roughly against the headboard, which does nothing but make her shoulders ache. 

It feels even worse when she begins to cry.

Alana grows silent when the floor creaks and shifts with weight out in the hall, a soft pattering of footsteps is heard, a shadow passes by the door to accompany the footsteps, and in the distance, she hears the stairs creak. Another shadow passes silently when the stairs creak, that must be Hannibal. Had the first been Margot? Was she still alive? She had to get out of this!

The ill woman shimmies herself upward on the pillows to crane her lips to her wrists. Her body feels hot and sticky with sweat and anxiety. It makes her clothing and her hair stick to her in a most uncomfortable fashion. The way her back drags against her own sticky clothing makes the sore area between her shoulder blades sting. Alana ignores these sensations in favor of starting to tug at the restraints with her teeth, trying desperately to find any form of give.

It is this twisted state she finds herself in when the air is broken by the sound of something being shot into the air. She turns her head to see a grappling hook secured to a thick cord shoot between two pillars in the balcony railing, hooking around the base of one. It wriggles a bit from being tugged till it is secure. 

What the hell was happening?!

Alana wrenches at her restraints frantically as the cord scrapes back and forth across the balcony wall, panting and whimpering. The panic thrilling through her makes her hands weak with trembling. When a hand grabs onto one of the rails, she lets out a frightened sob and curls up tightly, squeezing her eyes shut to hide from whoever was coming. 

_“Hey.”_

Initially, Alana completely ignores the voice that hisses to her from the balcony.

_“Hey! Look at me!”_

She hears a man grunting with effort, and then heavy boots settle on the balcony floor after what she assumed was this intruder hoisting himself over the railing. Alana cracks one eye open to see a rugged man in black cloth and brown leather armor. His hair is dark and unkempt, his face scruffy with an untrimmed beard. She twists herself onto her side to get a better look at him. His murky blue eyes looked dark gray in the lowlight. He is armed to the teeth with daggers, a pistol and a sawed-off shotgun, and rope. He wears black leather gloves on his hands, and he heaves lightly from the effort of pulling himself up to the balcony.

“Who the hell are you?!” Alana spits out in fury, squirming in her state of helplessness. Her expression twists with anxiety when the intruder shushes her.

“Keep your voice _down,_ will you? Or he may come back and finish you off.” The harsh reality that Hannibal was now a danger to her sinks in, and her response to this man is to say nothing. “My name is Will Graham. I’m a hunter.”

“What kind of hunter breaks into a lone manner at night?”

“The kind that keeps blood suckers from draining the life out of the likes of you!”

Her head swims with confusion as he paces to the door. He treats the door with trained caution, keeping the doorknob from making any noise when he cracks it open and closes it slowly. When he returns to the bed, she flinches when he removes a dagger from its sheath on his torso, but the anxiety turns to relief as he saws away at her restraints. “Vampires aren’t real! It’s just- I don’t know what is wrong with my fiancé. I thought I was pregnant, but maybe I am really sick, and he’s chasing the midwife! I just need to talk some sense into him.”

“Let me guess,” Will grumbles sarcastically, freeing her wrists with a sharp whack of his blade against the last knot. “You’re fatigued. Missed your cycle. Weaker than usual.” The hunter’s piercing stare is enough to wrench the truth from her. She nods weakly, shrinking away as the man looms at her side. 

“You’re _anemic._ The likelihood he has slept with you at all is rather slim. Don’t go complaining that you _remember_ , vampires have a way with the mind when they drink your blood. This is a common tactic. They steal a person, feed on them to establish mental control. Then they use their influence to warp your memories, feed on you to plant new ones, and control you through deception. And then they _kill_ their food source when it grows too sick or defiant. Start all over again.” He sheaths his knife once more, before going to retrieve his grappling hook, scanning the front door and the stable from the balcony. “If you have anything valuable that can be carried on your person, get it now. I’m getting you and Margot out, you’ll go to the stable and take a horse, and ride for the village.”

“So, she’s with you, then? He hasn’t ever bitten me! He’s an artist, and a gentleman. And why should I trust you, anyway? Some frightening stranger breaking in during bleak hours of the night.”

“He hasn’t bitten you where you can see it, no. Bite where someone can’t see, plant memories in their head while feeding, they believe your best intentions. Especially if you remember the sex being good.” He grasps the handles of the balcony doors and quietly draws them closed. When he looks over his shoulder, Alana shrinks back once more. “I’m not the one who tied you to a bed and went off to threaten the midwife, now am I?”

The hunter is harsh and crass, and Alana decides quickly that he’s a bastard. It seemed impossible to her that Hannibal could be such a monster! Then again, she would never have guessed him to tie her to the bed and go hurting a harmless midwife. 

“We don’t have time to argue. I need to get you out, you’re only a liability to me in a fight.”

“You’re not going to attack him-”

“I will do what I _must_ , so that filthy creature doesn’t hurt anyone else. Hurry up!”

As much as she wants to resist this, she doesn’t know what else to do. Hannibal’s eyes had turned such an alien red. She was scared...she couldn’t stay here. She paces into her walk-in closet, grabbing up a handheld tote suitcase. The hunter opens his mouth to argue, but there is a clatter somewhere in the house. 

They both go silent and still, and he draws his shotgun, waiting by the door. 

All is quiet, and so she begins to stuff away a change of clothing. She is in nothing but a robe and long nightgown, so she discards the robe on the floor and wrenches a jacket out of the closet. Her back is bare, and as she finishes packing away her money pouch and stuffing her feet into leather laced kitten heel boots, she can feel Will’s eyes burning into her skin.

“What? What are you staring at?!” Alana hisses, wrenching on her jacket with trembling fingers, before taking up her bag. 

“Your shoulder blades. That’s where he was biting you.” 

Her expression furrows with disbelief, and she tries to reach behind her back to touch at her shoulder blades. There is a stinging, burning pain, and she can hardly reach anyway. When Will motions for her to come to the door, she moves close to him, feeling her heart beginning to race once more.

“When we leave this room, don’t make a sound. If you see him, do not draw his attention, do not say anything. You will point us in the direction of the front door. Once I’ve gotten you out, you will go hide in the stable and prepare a horse and wait for Margot. If for any reason you think he is coming, you will get on that horse and ride as fast and hard as you can for the village, even if Margot hasn’t come. You will not turn back, and you will not call for us. Do you understand?”

Her thin-lipped expression makes her wide, frightened eyes look even larger than they are. She nods silently to signal she understands.

They creep as quietly as they can down the hall. Her thighs begin to burn with the effort of crouching, flyaway hairs sticking to her face and getting stuck in the corner of her lips, making it difficult to focus. If a floorboard creaks, they pause, flattening themselves to the wall. Will is always in front of her. When they get to the end of the hall, she points them left, which leads to a split staircase. This leads to the foyer. 

The hunter moves to peer around the corner of the wall and over the railing, looking into the open room below. A porcelain bust is shattered on the floor, but otherwise, nothing is amiss. 

It is painfully quiet. 

Will waits for a moment, before standing up to his full height, motioning for Alana to follow behind him. As she stands, one of her knees pops and she flinches, trying not to stumble. The hunter reflexively reaches behind her to grab her forearm and steady her. 

“We’re almost there. It’s alright.” 

He whispers, holding her wrist with his free hand as they begin to descend. For a moment, Alana is relieved, grateful for his presence.

“What are you doing up, my dear?”

The quiet is broken by a familiar and sinister voice behind her. She whirls to look, seeing Hannibal two steps behind her, disheveled, white shirt spattered with a bit of blood. Alana gasps in horror, before reflex takes over and she swings her tote bag at him. This only serves to send her off balance, and Hannibal simply leans back to avoid the swing. Will hooks his free arm around her waist and spins sharply so that she is now at the platform that joins the split stairway, and he is facing Hannibal with his gun aimed. 

“Go! Get out of here!” 

Hell breaks loose in the foyer as she flees down the stairs. 

She screams as a gunshot cracks the air, making her ears ring. She stumbles haphazardly over the broken porcelain, looking back to see what was happening. Will’s wrist was being twisted in the air so violently by Hannibal that he yelps and drops the gun. The hunter punches Hannibal in the face with his free hand, putting them both off balance, so that when Hannibal tackles Will they both tumble down the stairs and onto the floor. 

Alana turns back and sprints for the front door, panting and heaving as she hikes up the skirt of her nightgown with one hand. Something whizzes past her ear suddenly, and her ear stings with burning pain, causing her to scream and fumble to the floor. She can hear the knife slamming into the front door before she sees it, and it wavers in the air as she reaches to touch her ear. It was burning hot and dripping with blood. She pushes herself onto her knees, turning to look at the two men. Hannibal had one knee shoved down into Will’s throat, causing the hunter to gag and struggle. 

The same knife that had been used to cut her restraints had been unsheathed by Hannibal and flung to distract her. She can see his fangs, even though his face is overcast by shadows. 

“Where do you think you are going, Alana? There’s nowhere to run.” 

His crimson gaze is terrifying, and she knows that when she locks eyes with Hannibal that she has made a grave mistake. She can’t move. Her body is frozen in place. 

“Come to me, _now.”_

When he commands her to, this is the only time she can move her body. No matter how she tries to struggle or resist, her body moves on its own. She starts to crawl towards him on hands and knees. Everything inside her screams to turn and flee. Her body burns with exhaustion. She can feel blood dripping down her jaw. But she can’t turn away. 

Will continues to gag and choke, wheezing as Hannibal puts more weight on the front of his throat. The hunter grits his teeth, one hand trying to push away Hannibal’s leg while the other reaches for his own thigh. He fumbles with a strap, slipping it around as quietly as he can, until another blade is visible. When the blade plunges into Hannibal’s ribs, the vampire lets out a pained snarl and throws his head back. The two men begin to grapple and fight on the floor, Will armed with his blade, Hannibal with his teeth. 

Alana watches in horror as the two fight, seeing how they roll with each other across the floor before struggling to their knees and then their feet. Will is obviously trained, he moves rhythmically and not recklessly, but Hannibal is so much faster. Hannibal hits harder. Will is enough to keep Hannibal’s attention, but for how long? 

The memory that she is supposed to escape hits her, and she suddenly turns onto her knees and crawls quickly towards her tote. She snatches it up by the straps and shoves to her feet, trying not to trip and topple all over again.

Will’s body flies through the air, slamming into the front doors before crumpling in a heap on the floor. Alana lets out a shriek that devolves into frightened sobs as the hunter groans in pain. She rushes to the front door, wrenching the dagger from where it had been embedded in the wood, before turning to face Hannibal. She holds the dagger in both hands, arms trembling as she tries to shield the staggered hunter. Hannibal’s face is bruising but is not swelling with redness. 

Had he always looked so ashen? Had he always looked like such a feral beast? She couldn’t recall. 

The vampire slowly looms closer, his steps silent, his eyes filled with violence.

In such a short time, she had made so many memories in this room already. _Step._ She remembers when she first entered this house, afternoon sunlight filtering in through the windows, casting beautiful light on the marble tiles. _Step._ She remembers the first dinner party Hannibal hosted with her present, how he smiled as everyone asked about her with pleasant curiosity. _Step._ She remembers the stories he told of the paintings he hung on the wall, including _The Storm on the Sea of Galilee_. He especially liked the contrasting light of the sunset with the darkness of the storm. _Step._ All those happy memories, draining away as she begins to sob, holding the dagger forward. 

“Stay back! Don’t- Don’t come any closer!” 

Hannibal pauses, cocking his head to one side. “Are you trying to be brave, Alana?” He offers an almost pleasant smile. “You were a lovely rose, Miss Bloom. It is painful to watch you, so unaware of your current state, with such withered petals and such a limp stem. One measly thorn to protect you at the brink of death.” He heaves a great sigh as she continues to sob. 

“Don’t be brave. I can make it quick. You needn’t suffer any more.”

“Shut up. Just shut up, you’re a monster! You’re a monster...I can’t believe I trusted you.” She bellows, fury boiling up from deep in her belly until it leaves her feeling hollow and frail. He begins to come closer, and she can feel Will pushing to his feet, trying to get in front of her. “Stay back, don’t come near us! _I’m warning you!”_

Suddenly, Will grabs the knife from her hands. 

“Do it NOW!” He orders, before he pins Alana to the door with his body. 

An explosive crack shatters the silence, and Alana screams as if she is the one who has been wounded. But the bullet didn’t hit her at all. It pierced Hannibal’s knee, forcing him to crumple to the floor. Margot stands off to the side, where Will’s gun had skidded off to. Suddenly, she is stumbling out the door with her bag in tow. Will had opened it quickly and he motions emphatically to the midwife, shouting at her and Alana to run!

Alana’s mind is empty as Margot takes her hand, and suddenly they are running. They are sprinting for the stable, kicking up dust and gravel as they flee, skirts hiked to their knees. Margot throws open the doors and starts grabbing up a saddle cloth. “Get a bridle!” She barks at Alana. The ill woman complies, moving to a row of hooks on the wall, shakily taking off the hook a bridle with a bit already attached. Her hands shake so terribly she nearly drops the rein as she attaches them to the bridle. Margot leads a horse toward her, taking the bridle from her hands and getting the horse ready.

Margot doesn’t speak, simply motioning for Alana to get on the horse. She puts a knee out for Alana to climb up, and then hoists herself onto the animal’s back in front of Alana. “Hold onto me tight. Don’t let go, and don’t look back.” With a snap of the reins, they burst from the stable in a flurry of whinnies and thundering hoofbeats, escaping the property and surging into the dark of the forest. 

“I think I know you.” Alana stammers out, after they had been riding silently for some time. “You’re no midwife. I recognize you, I’m sure of it. Everything is blurry... I don’t know which memories are real or fake anymore.”

“I worked for your family for years. I was the stablemaster. Your father saved me.” Margot responds, her voice heavy with emotion and tight with restraint. She doesn’t look back. “I found him dead, his throat ripped out, and you had vanished. You’ve been gone for five months.”

“...He’s dead?” Alana whispers, her eyes stinging, mind spinning from the horror of it all. 

“I’m sorry, Miss Bloom.”

Alana hugs onto Margot tighter, her tote pressed between her own belly and Margot’s back uncomfortably, but this doesn’t deter the frightened woman from hugging Margot tighter. “I’m scared.” She begins to heave with sobs, wetting Margot’s shoulder with her tears. 

After a few long minutes of tears and galloping, Margot pulls the horse to a halt and off to the edge of the road. She twists on the horse’s back, wrapping an arm around Alana, pulling the ill woman’s head to her bosom. Alana weeps with relief at the comforting gesture, clinging to Margot tightly.

“Don’t be afraid, Alana. You’re safe.” Margot whispers, wiping the clammy sweat from the baronet’s brow. Alana can feel a soft kiss on her temple, and her racing heart and painful sobs slowly begin to quiet, relief washing over her as Margot pets back her hair. 

“I promise, I’m never going to leave your side again.”


End file.
